


The Fires and the Conscious Air

by Sineala



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Community: ninth_eagle, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot, Sex In A Cave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A storm causes Marcus and Esca to take shelter in a cave. I think you know what happens next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fires and the Conscious Air

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the second iteration of the ninth_eagle Fanmedia Challenge, Round 2, inspired by the picture of lightning. Thanks to Carmarthen for beta and Lysimache for saying things like "Are you writing about augurs? How about the Aeneid?" Hence, all references to actual Roman things are her fault.

The storm came upon them suddenly, with no warning; at one moment, the sky was clear and bright, with the summer sunlight casting dappled patterns through the leaves onto the cool ground. Then the day darkened all at once, like a lamp extinguished, and Esca heard Marcus yelp, surprised, as the wind blew a surprisingly heavy burst of cold rain into their faces.

"Go!"

Esca looked up at Marcus' face, lit up by a sudden bolt of lightning in the distance. "Where?"

"Anywhere! Out of this!" yelled Marcus, his hand closing on Esca's shoulder, and anything else he had to say was lost in the tremendous crack of thunder that followed very shortly.

So Esca turned and ran, wetter and colder with every step. Behind him Marcus was slower, on account of his leg, but with his longer stride he was keeping up well enough. He could hear Marcus' breath, heavy and labored, between each rumble of thunder.

They were not so far from home, in this forest, but if the weather was going to carry on like this they needed some sort of shelter before they could even have a chance of reaching the farm, and they needed it soon. He did not like the thought of waiting out the storm out in the open.

"There!"

He turned to see where Marcus was pointing; beyond a break in the trees was a cave, one they had passed by a few times before, these past months, enough to ascertain that nothing unpleasant was denning in there. It was small and likely damp, but damp was better than completely soaked and a target for lightning.

They ran.

All across the open field, the ground hidden beneath the high grasses was uneven, and when Marcus stumbled Esca grabbed him by the arm, wrapping his fingers around Marcus' wrist. He was abruptly minded of their flight from the Seal People and shuddered, half from cold and half the memory of it, as they ran.

The cave, Esca was pleased to find, was dry enough, and he pulled them both into it just in time to look back and see a bolt of lightning streak across the sky, in the distance, in the direction of the farm.

"Marcus," he said, trying to catch his breath, "what did you do to annoy your gods this time?"

Marcus laughed and pushed his wet hair back from his forehead. "Not me!" he protested. "That's Sabinius' land! Let him send for an augur."

Esca laughed at that, laughing and laughing until he shook from the laughter. Then he wasn't laughing, but he was still shaking, his teeth rattling in his skull, his face hurting, and he didn't think he could stop--

"Esca?" Marcus' voice sounded far away, but he could feel Marcus' hands on his arms, his shoulders. "What's wrong?"

He tried to speak but only shuddered more when he opened his mouth.

Marcus said something he couldn't quite catch, a few quiet and vehement words, and then his fingers, quick and gentle, were working at Esca's cloak-pin. After Esca's cloak dropped to the ground Marcus' hands went to his waist, unfastening his belt with precisely measured motions, as though he had done this for him a thousand times before instead of never.

"You can have my tunic; I'm not as wet. We just have to get you out of this and you'll be warmer," he said, gripping one of Esca's sodden tunics in his fist. "And then this one. You and your hundreds of layers of clothing," Marcus muttered, managing to sound annoyed and fond at the same time, as he hauled the first of Esca's tunics over his head and then, shortly thereafter, the second. And then he stopped, staring in confusion at Esca's bare chest.

Esca, even colder now, looked down at himself. His skin was paler now from the chill, and the ink across his shoulders and chest showed up darker... and then he realized that Marcus had seen none of it before. Somehow. It had been four months since he'd had it done; how had he never seen it?

"In-- in Calleva," Esca managed, stammering out the name. He could barely think through the cold.

Marcus' face was still twisted, his eyes narrowed in disbelief, or perhaps a kind of jealousy, as if it hurt him not to have known about this. "When? How long ago?" Esca could practically see Marcus trying to count all the times he might have had occasion to see his body, and then Marcus' face shuttered into something unreadable.

"When we came back from the north." He could hardly feel his face. "I wanted. I wanted to have something to remember what we'd done. Who I was."

Surely Marcus must have seen him. They lived together, after all. This was ridiculous. But Marcus, he realized, had never looked, had scrupulously turned away whenever Esca was dressing, or undressing, or anything of the sort. Roman morals. Or perhaps it was only Marcus.

Marcus' eyes were wide, and he held out a hand to Esca's shoulder, not quite touching him. "Can I?"

Esca nodded. "Of course."

Marcus' fingers were warm; the faintest brush of them against his skin made Esca shiver more, suddenly hot where Marcus' hand traced the twining lines over his shoulder, down to his breast, and then Marcus jerked his hand back as if he too had been burned.

"Sorry!" said Marcus, hastily.

"It doesn't hurt," Esca offered, wondering if that was Marcus' objection. "Th-- they're healed." He was starting, he noticed, to shake again.

"Not that," Marcus said, brow furrowed in annoyance. "It's just that I wanted to get you warmer and got myself distracted. Here, let me just give you--"

With these words, he threw off his own cloak, revealing that his tunic, underneath, was far drier than Esca's. Lucky him. He had said he would give it to Esca, but before he could, Esca stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Marcus and tucking his head against his chest as best he could manage.

Marcus froze, and then, long moments later, expelled a breath with a great sigh and returned the embrace. "Or we could do this," he said, very softly.

"I have no objections," Esca murmured, and then yanked the back of Marcus' tunic out from under his belt so that he could put his hands flat on Marcus' back, against bare skin, and oh, it was warm, warm, warm--

That was when he knew Marcus loved him, whether Marcus knew it or not, because even though Marcus yelped, he didn't move away.

"You didn't do this in the-- when we were in the north," Marcus said in his ear, a few breaths later.

Esca shrugged, or tried to, which was hard with the shaking. "Then I was running across the countryside. Kept my blood moving." His tongue was thick and slow in his mouth. "It's only a problem if you _stop_."

"Ah."

He was aware, then, of Marcus' hands splayed across his back, rubbing gently in small circles against skin so cold it was painful everywhere Marcus wasn't touching him. But Marcus' hands didn't hurt, and in fact Esca was beginning to think it was the nicest thing he had ever felt.

"Did they teach you to do this in the army?" he asked Marcus, or rather, Marcus' chest. The wool of the tunic was rough against his face, but it was starting to be easier to talk now.

Marcus chuckled, and he felt it all through him. "Not specifically, but I have the impression they wouldn't have liked it if I'd ever let my tent-mates freeze to death."

The tunic muffled Esca's snort of derision. "I'm not going to _die_ , Marcus."

"You want me to let go, then?" He looked up to see Marcus raise an eyebrow.

Esca dug numb fingers into Marcus' back, seeking purchase. "No."

"Thought not." He could feel the weight of Marcus' hand settle on his shoulder, now. "I do like the look of your skin," Marcus said, after a pause. "I wish, though, I wish you had told me."

"I didn't think you'd... understand." Esca was suddenly awkward, turning his face away and down. "And then when I hadn't told you, I didn't know how to start."

It had seemed so reasonable at the time. Marcus did not -- had never, really -- understood the British. Oh, he liked Esca himself well enough, Esca knew. But sometimes Esca suspected that Marcus thought of him as just another sort of Roman, just a man whose Latin was a little strange. If a Roman wanted to remember something, he would write it down on tablets or papyrus, he would carve it into stone, and in all of it he would use words or perhaps the clearest of pictures. He would not draw it on his body in spirals and swirls. Marcus could not understand what he had done, Esca thought. It would only have reminded him of their differences.

He felt Marcus' fingers trace lightly down the curve of his shoulder to his chest, where the ink spread along his collarbone. It felt-- he did not know if Marcus knew what he was doing to him, making his heart race and pound as if he should die from warmth and not cold.

"It's like wings," Marcus said, tracing one outstretched blue tip, the lowest of the curves and dots, as Esca shivered under him. "Is that the Eagle?"

_You can't read it like a scroll_ , he wanted to say, but those were not the words that left his mouth. "I suppose it is," he said, and Marcus smiled.

Marcus' thumb rubbed against Esca's neck, and quite suddenly Esca was hot all over, everywhere. Then the heat concentrated, pooling low into his belly, and Esca could not quite stop himself from moaning. Marcus had to know what he was doing to him now. He was, after all, pressed against him.

"I--" The noise Marcus made was a half-strangled groan. "It's normal," he muttered. "It's not about me. I know that. It's all right," he managed, finally, a halting attempt at reassurance, though Esca was not in need of that. It was well with him; the question was then how it was for Marcus.

Esca pulled his head back and looked up at Marcus, whose face was flushed, who seemed to be avoiding his gaze. Who had been very carefully avoiding looking at him for months now. What if--?

He took a breath. "Is there anywhere else you'd like to touch me?" he said, softly. And he smiled.

Marcus' eyes went wide. "Esca-- I--" he started, his eyes darting wildly around the cave.

"You're thinking," Esca said. "Don't think. If you want this, do it."

Marcus' mouth quirked in a strange lopsided smile and he glanced out at the rain. "Perhaps it is the gods' will after all. I should have known. A cave, really."

Esca had no time to ponder the meaning of that, for then Marcus bent his head down and kissed him.

The cave was damp, his clothing chafed, and outside the cave the storm was raging ever louder, but Esca cared about none of these things, for Marcus was kissing him. He was quite good at it, Esca thought, as Marcus' hands slid up to his face, through his hair, and it was wondrous, special, as though Marcus had saved this kiss, had been waiting for this very moment to focus all his attention on him. It was a heady thing, like sipping sweet mead, and all he wanted was to drink more and more.

When they parted, Marcus grinned at him. "Well," he said, and they both broke into laughter, from the sheer joy of it.

"Perhaps you'd like to look at more of me," Esca said, letting go and stepping back, and that was when he discovered that it was very, very difficult to undo the wet, knotted ties of his braccae. He swore.

Marcus started laughing again. 

"What?" Esca snapped, his fingers slipping again on the knots.

Marcus smiled. "This just wasn't how I pictured this."

That made Esca smile in return. "You pictured this?"

"I did." Marcus coughed. "I have to say I would be... interested... in seeing more of you." His smile turned suddenly darker. "Is there ink anywhere else I should know about?"

Esca laughed and shook his head. "No, but I suppose I could add some."

"I'll look later," Marcus said, and then he slid his hand lower, squeezing Esca through the fabric of his braccae, and Esca gasped and shut his eyes. And then Marcus kissed him again, messy and rough and it was even better, and Marcus' hand was still moving on him, perfect, heavy friction, and it wasn't going to be long at all, ah, just there--

He pulled his mouth away from Marcus'. "Marcus," he whispered, "I'm-- you're going to make me--"

"Go on, then." Marcus' breath was warm and shivery in Esca's ear, the feeling sliding all down his spine and he couldn't think of a single reason he should protest, he didn't even care how many clothes he was wearing, because Marcus was right here, and his hand never slowed, taking him all through it.

Then, then, the ties of his braccae loosened as Marcus caught his fingers in the knot.

"The gods hate me," Esca said, when he could put a sentence together again, while Marcus laughed and tried to clean him up with the edge of one of the cloaks.

Marcus shrugged. "It's still raining. You can go outside."

Esca tried to glare. "Don't tell me, you're one of those people who think my people ride naked into battle."

Marcus looked sheepish. "You don't?"

"Not unless this is war," Esca said, finding it was the easiest thing in the world to kiss Marcus again and again as he talked.

"I'll make it up to you," offered Marcus, between kisses, pressing insistently against him.

Of course they had no trouble with Marcus' clothing, and in short order he had Marcus' cock, heavy and hard, in his hand. He stroked experimentally, a few times, and Marcus moaned and wrapped his arms around him, holding him closer.

"How will you make it up to me?" Esca asked, watching Marcus thrust up into his fist as he talked. "Any ideas? Or-- wait, I know, to make it fair I could come all over _you_ \--"

As soon as he had said the words, Marcus gasped, his grip on Esca's sides grown strong enough to bruise, and then he shuddered and came in Esca's hands and across his stomach.

"Sorry," Marcus was panting, "sorry, sorry--"

Esca couldn't stop smiling. "All over you _twice_ ," he corrected. "You owe me."

"I owe you everything," Marcus said, kissing him, and there they stood, together, waiting for the rain to end.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Aeneid IV.167, the part of the Aeneid where Juno conspires to have Dido and Aeneas get trapped together in a cave during a storm and they get secretly married. There is lightning.
> 
> ...what, you thought _fandom_ invented stories where people got together in caves?


End file.
